


I'm Trying to Find a New Direction

by thesaddestboner



Series: Say Farewell to the Anchor (This Ship is Sailing Away) [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Consensualish Infidelity, Denial, Friends With Benefits, Gay Sex For the Sake of the Team, M/M, Situational Homosexuality, mention of family, poor coping mechanisms, pre-pre-pre-feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10176098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: After the first time, things just get progressively worse.  Justin wonders how the hell this – thisthing, whatever the hell it is with Robertson – is going to make shit better, wonders if that was even the point.Set during the 2008 MLB season.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A very long time ago, [**bee_yes**](http://bee_yes.livejournal.com/) asked for a follow-up to [There Is No Surviving This With the Way We're Living](http://archiveofourown.org/works/566420). I never posted this and eventually forgot about it for a while.
> 
> Many thanks to [**sinquepida**](http://sinquepida.livejournal.com/) for whipping this into shape a million years ago. Any remaining mistakes or stupidity is solely my fault.
> 
> [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/296860096_8eaf8b5297_o.jpg) is Nate. He's retired now.
> 
> Title from "Surviving Disasters," by Our Last Night.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

After the first time, things just get progressively worse. Justin wonders how the hell this – this _thing_ , whatever the hell it is with Robertson – is going to make shit better, wonders if that was even the point.

They keep doing it, though. Not like they'll let a little thing like reality - _really not into guys_ , _got a girlfriend_ , _got a wife_ , _but the_ Bible _says_ \- get in the way of a good time. 

They tell themselves it's _for the team,_ feed each other well-worn lines to make what they're doing okay, palatable. Justin doesn't think he'd be able to go home to Emily otherwise.

She doesn't mind if he fucks other women, but he's pretty sure she'd leave him if she knew he fucked other guys too. He's not even really sure why it matters. She knows he'll never leave her, especially not for a guy, she has the ring that proves it for Christ's sake. It can't be because of God and the Bible, because he and Emily do plenty of things together that God and the Bible would frown on. He can't put his finger on it, and after a while, he just stops thinking about it.

He goes on a nice stretch during the summer, though, winning more than he loses, pitching into the seventh inning, throwing strikes and being efficient. He doesn't get as tired during games as he had before, before he and Robertson started this _thing_ they have. He feels almost re-energized, like he's finally made up for all the damage - baseball and otherwise - he's inflicted upon himself the last couple of seasons.

The team heads to San Francisco for the tail end of interleague. Guys grumble good-naturedly about it, but Justin knows deep down they're excited to play teams they'd otherwise never get to meet, go to cities they wouldn't visit if not for interleague play.

This is his second time in San Francisco - first time was for the All-Star Game in '07 - and he pledges to himself that this time around, he's going to take the city up on all it has to offer. 

The last time, he had Emily with him and they had to go do couple-y things together. She made him take her to boutiques and restaurants and buy her things he knew she was never going to use. He didn't mind, though. Every gift he bought her made him feel like he was making up, in some small way, for being a shitty, inattentive boyfriend 98% of the time.

Every time Emily's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas and he handed over his credit card, Justin mentally crossed off a wrong-doing on his long list of wrong-doings and felt good about himself.

Until the next wrong-doing, of course.

It's different this time. Emily is thousands of miles away, back home in Lakeland. There are no obligations, no parties to attend, no stupid events to show up to. He's not an All-Star this year, not by any stretch of the imagination, and he kind of likes it better this way.

Justin's sitting at the foot of his bed, playing Halo 3 on a rented video game system when somebody raps loudly on his door. Justin pauses the game and yells out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Nate."

Justin tilts his head and gets up to answer the door. "Hey, what's up?" he asks, stepping aside so Robertson can come in. "Wanna beer?"

"Sure, sounds good." Robertson heads over to Justin's minibar and holds out his hand, waggling his fingers for the key.

"It's kinda late," Justin says, cutting his eyes toward the digital alarm on the nightstand. He glances back at Robertson, who's wearing a suit coat and a rumpled dress shirt. "You goin' out with somea the guys?"

"Just got back in," Robertson says, opening the fridge and grabbing a couple beers. He flops on one of the beds and tosses a beer to Justin. It thumps harmlessly against his chest and lands in the thick carpet. "Tough game."

Justin shrugs. He was already long gone when Fernando blew it. "Sucks for Fernando, first game back an' all."

"Sucks for the team," Robertson says, working on his beer.

"Ain't so bad for me," Justin says, sinking into the mattress next to him. He stretches out and crosses his ankles. Wiggles his toes. "Had a pretty good night, felt good. Didn't get fatigued or nothin'."

"Still lost," Robertson says.

"Yeah, well, that ain't _my_ fault," Justin says, glancing over at Robertson. Justin rests his beer on Robertson's chest and slips his hand away. He watches the can as it rises with Robertson's breath. "Did my part, man. Fernando was just rusty."

"Bad games never stick to you the way they do for everybody else, do they?" Robertson asks, his tone softly accusing. He sticks the can of beer back into Justin's hand.

Justin leans forward on his elbow and plays with the tab on the beer can, the shitty hotel beer having been forgotten for the moment. "Nah. Gotta have a short memory, y'know? If I dwell on a bad game too long, it'll hurt my confidence."

"An' if you never dwell on 'em, you don't learn anything," Robertson points out.

"That ain't how I do things," Justin says, leaning over Robertson to put the beer aside. "You don't like it, good for you."

Robertson pushes him back, into the mattress, hands over his chest. Justin tries to knock his hands away, but he's only fighting half-heartedly. This feels like one of _those moments_ anyways, where they do that thing they do. "You weren't perfect tonight, y'know," Robertson says.

"Nobody's perfect, 'cept for Sandy fuckin' Koufax," Justin replies with a smirk.

"You made mistakes, and it don't bother you none?" Robertson settles on him, straddling his hips. He doesn't move to unbutton Justin's pants or pull his t-shirt off over his head, though, so Justin isn't really sure what's going on here.

"Well. It bothered me when I _made_ 'em, but that's old news now." Justin bucks up against Robertson's hips just because.

Robertson presses back down and Justin closes his eyes and tips his head back, lets out an exaggerated pornstar moan just to get his point across. Robertson snorts. "Oh, I see what you're anglin' for," he says.

Justin grins. " 's it workin' yet?"

"Maybe." Robertson grins wolfishly at him and dips his head, running his teeth along Justin's carotid. Justin shivers a little and turns his head a bit, exposing more of his neck to Robertson. Robertson chuckles.

"What?" Justin asks, cracking an eye open.

"Too easy." Robertson nips him lightly on the neck.

"Jeez. Careful there," Justin murmurs.

"Afraid I might break the skin?" Robertson nips him on the neck again and smirks when Justin shudders involuntarily up against him.

"Ain't afraid of you," Justin says, smirking.

Robertson chuckles low, his breath chuffing against Justin's skin, and slides a hand under his shirt. "What're you talkin' about? I'm scary." Robertson scratches blunt fingernails - _perfect for gripping the curve_ flashes inexplicably in Justin's mind - lightly down Justin's side and he shivers against his hand.

"You ain't scary." Justin laughs, helping Robertson rid him of his shirt. He tosses it carelessly aside and stretches his arms out, maybe preening just a little bit for Robertson's benefit.

Robertson sits back and tugs off his own shirt, getting tangled with his glasses and his Christian fish necklace. Justin reaches up and slips the leather cord from around Robertson's neck.

"Whaddaya doin' with that?" Robertson asks, sliding his glasses back on.

"I'm puttin' your Jesus necklace aside for safe keepin'," Justin says, setting it on the nightstand.

"I'm sure the savior appreciates your concern." Robertson rolls onto his back and crosses his arms under his head.

Justin straddles his hips and slides a hand down Robertson's chest to the waistband of his pants. "How d'you wanna do this?" he asks, flicking open the button on his fly.

"You seem to be off to a pretty good start," Robertson says.

Justin slowly tugs the zipper down, just to be extra annoying. " 'm I doin' good so far, Mr. Robertson?"

Robertson rolls his eyes. "Thanks for killin' my erection."

Justin gives Robertson's dick a light squeeze through the material of his pants. "Still feels pretty solid to me."

Robertson lets out his breath in a soft hiss. "That was bad."

"I'm very good at bein' bad." Justin grins, stroking slowly.

Robertson groans, arching up into Justin's hand. "Jesus, fuck, just stop talkin'."

Justin slips his hand into Robertson's pants and pulls his dick out of his boxers. "I'll just find some other way to occupy my mouth."

Robertson closes his eyes and reaches down to thread his fingers loosely through Justin's hair. "You do that."

Justin takes Robertson into his mouth, watching him closely for a reaction. Robertson lets out a soft sigh and runs his tongue along his bottom lip, but that's it. He doesn't really seem to like giving instructions when Justin's blowing him, anyways. That's one thing Justin doesn't mind. It'd probably start to feel like overkill, besides.

Justin finally closes his eyes and hollows his cheeks and manages a slight mouth-twitch of a smile at the gratifying little noise Robertson makes. Robertson tightens his fingers a little bit in Justin's hair, which apparently means, in Nate Robertson blowjob speak, "suck harder", and Justin obliges.

"Fuck," Robertson exhales.

Justin flicks out his tongue and runs it lightly in circles at the head of Robertson's dick. He makes extra obscene slurping noises just for the hell of it.

Robertson's fingers stroking in his hair tell him that he's doing a good job.

Justin starts using his hand too, stroking what he can't fit into his mouth, and Robertson hooks a leg over his shoulder and arches his hips, letting out these high pitched whines and groans, and Justin can feel Robertson's heel digging into his right shoulder blade. He shrugs Robertson's leg off his shoulder and pins it against the mattress to keep him from doing it again.

Justin can feel that Robertson is close, and Justin is close now, too. He wraps a hand around his own dick and begins to stroke. Robertson says, "Ah, _fuck_ ," in that _tone_ that Justin knows so well by now, and he prepares himself.

After, when Robertson is spent and panting for breath, legs hanging bonelessly off the edge of the mattress, Justin gets down to business and finishes himself off quickly. It doesn't take much. He twists his wrist a couple times, savoring the slight tinge of pain, and everything that has been winding up inside him since the last time they did this finally explodes.

\- 

Later, after Robertson falls asleep - Justin feels the slow, soft rise-fall-rise of Robertson's chest against his side - he rolls onto his stomach and pillows his head on his arm. 

Roberton's glasses hang off the end of his nose and Justin plucks them away. The glasses leave behind bruise-colored indentations at the bridge of his nose and Justin swallows a laugh. 

Justin's palms are sweaty and he wipes them off on the bedsheet. Robertson snuffs lightly and shifts in his sleep, curling a warm arm around Justin's shoulders, pulling him in. Justin tries to squirm away, to no avail. 

Robertson says, "Mmph," into Justin's hair, and he can feel Robertson's stubble scratching at his forehead. 

Justin shifts against him, scooting into a more comfortable position, and puts an arm around Robertson's waist. That doesn't seem to work; he still feels vaguely uncomfortable, so he shifts some more, and prods at the mattress and the pillow. It still doesn't feel quite right though. Justin slips his arm away, but that doesn't feel right either so he puts his arm back over Robertson's waist. 

Robertson's breath quickens against Justin's forehead. "Justin?" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly. 

"Stop movin' around so much. Woke me up," Robertson murmurs. "Go t'sleep." 

"Sorry for wakin' you," Justin whispers back. "Just tryin' to get comfortable." 

"Feel comfortable t'me," Robertson mutters into his pillow. 

" 's not what I meant," Justin grumbles, scowling at the back of Robertson's head. 

Robertson just tightens his arm around Justin in silent response. His breath levels out quickly, and Justin can hardly believe he's fallen back asleep so fast. He maybe kind of hates Robertson right now, just a little bit. 

The slow, even rise of Robertson's chest, though, starts to lull him, and - lo and behold - Justin can feel his eyelids beginning to droop. 

Justin sighs and presses his ear against Robertson's chest. He closes his eyes, already thinking of the next time, and allows himself to get lost to the steady percussive thud of Robertson's heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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